


3 seconds and a glance that is not averted

by JeanSouth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, future years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:17:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A SPACE WHICH ONCE CONTAINED A FRIEND. THE DISTINCT ABSENCE OF A PERSON THAT, NEVERTHELESS, LOOKS UP WHENEVER YOU ENTER THE ROOM.</p><p>"I didn’t really think I’d see you again," Wakamatsu admits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 seconds and a glance that is not averted

**Author's Note:**

> i need this ship

"I didn’t really think I’d see you again," Wakamatsu admits. He rubs a hand along the back of his neck, as if the motion will give him something else to say. He remains stupidly tall, and has the same tolerable presence he always had when he wasn’t causing an argument.

"Me neither," Aomine admits, holding on to his son’s hand a little bit tighter when a dog walks past. He knows him well enough to know he’d go after the puppy if given half a chance, but he doesn’t protest - just watches them curiously. "Not after graduation."

The old furious, competitive spark that used to flare whenever Wakamatsu entered the room still stirs in his chest a bit, but it’s a nostalgic effort from his former self: reckless, unthinking and hard.

"You, uh, look well," Wakamatsu offers as an empty platitude. The bag of groceries rattles in his hands as he shifts awkwardly. The bag is clear plastic, and he has responsible shopping: veggies, meat, and a bag of biscuits shaped like penguins. He feels himself smirk a little bit at the sight of them, making Wakamatsu bristle without any real offense. "Got married?"

He gestures awkwardly at Aomine’s son, with the kind of air of a man who doesn’t have any of his own, and finds them fragile looking. After a great many near heart attacks, Aomine has surmised that children are made of rubber and the purpose to cause their parents an early death.

"For a while," he shrugs, unphased by admitting it: his marriage had been whirlwind, basking in his fame of basketball. He’d wanted a nice house, nice car and a nice wife. He’d had them all, but had found them leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "We split up a few years ago."

The lack of bitterness, resentment or hatred - the desire to put their son first - seems to soothe Wakamatsu.

"One wife down, huh," he shakes his head a bit, smiling. "I’m not even on the first one, yet. Got too busy with uni, really. I only finished a year ago."

The information is offered in good faith, but Aomine doesn’t really care. In his career, he’s heard a great many life stories from people he’s never met again.

"Maybe you should join me for dinner," Wakamatsu offers though, and Wakamatsu has been an  _idiot_  and a  _pain_  and much more, but he has never been someone to go back on his word when offered sincerely. “I really don’t want to cook. We could go to a family restaurant.”

"That’d be-" nice, he almost starts to say, with a rejection tacked on the end, but he finds the words sticking in his mouth. He hadn’t been  _happy_  in his middle to late teens, not save for the times he’d played Kagami and honed his skills, but he’d always had a vested  _interest_  in Wakamatsu, even if it was causing a fight. Instead he finished, “Great. You pick.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he turns a left, putting him on the other side of Aomine’s son. The bag of groceries is between them too.

“ _I want them_ ,” his son breathes, with the eyes of a man seeing god, and reaches out to touch the bag with a grubby hand.

“ _Never_ ,” Wakamatsu shoots back, and hugs them dramatically, but he has a spark of amusement in his voice. He cringes at the heartbroken, manipulative shriek that follows after, and begs forgiveness with the promise of some after dinner.

"You haven’t grown up at all," Aomine drawls, feeling himself falling back into the pattern of lazy teasing. The look in Wakamatsu’s eyes promises revenge, and he’s not even surprised to realize he’s not bothered by the promise at all.


End file.
